My Soul Cries Out

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

In loving memory of Pastor James Leroy Moore

 

Thanks for everything you taught me about
worship, intercession, the Holy Spirit and
intimacy with God.
I know you're watching me up there in the cloud
of witnesses!

First and foremost, thanks to my God for the gift of writing and the love of story and the opportunity to share it with the world. I hope I heard You right, and if so, I trust that people will be blessed by what I believe You gave me to share.

 

Thanks to my number one editor and big sis, Joyce, for reading
every
single version and revision of this book—only you know how many there were! Thanks to Daddy for reading the book and for all your suggestions on changes I should make. Thanks to Mommy for motivating me by refusing to read it until it was an actual book. Now you have to read it! Thanks to Kelli for teaching me to be true to the artist in myself and inspiring me to pursue this part of my destiny.

 

Thanks to my best friend, Yvette, for being the best prayer partner and destiny seeker a girl could ask for. What a compliment for someone who doesn't read novels to read my manuscripts and love them. Hopefully we'll be making movies one day!

 

Thanks to my best friend, Kathy, for always pushing me and inspiring me and for being there for me through the roughest time ever. I know that I can always count on you for any and everything. You are my bestest dude!

 

Thanks to my best friend, Allen, for being such a great friend—for always listening, for music and for
always
making me laugh. Thanks for the advice on the dialogue for my male characters. Thanks to you, I think they actually came out sounding like men instead of women with men's names.

 

To my sistawriterfriends—the women of the Atlanta Black Christian fiction writers critique group. Thanks for the critiques, the love, and encouragement. Who's next??? Special thanks to the bestest writing partner in the whole world, Tia McCollors, for the long hours at Joe's getting this book done and for answering
all
my questions about the publishing and marketing process.

 

To my fellow Christian fiction authors, especially those that have led the way—Victoria Christopher Murray, Jacquelin Thomas, Patricia Haley, Mary Griffith, Claudia Mair Burney, Kendra Norman Bellamy and so many others.

 

To Kendra Norman Bellamy—what can I say? There aren't enough words I could say to thank you for presenting me with this opportunity. May God bless you richly and reward you all the days of your life. To my editor, Joylynn—thanks for making my experience with Urban such a pleasant one. To my agent, Sha Shana Crichton of Crichton and Associates—thanks for interpreting the legalese and for being so attentive and available.

 

Thanks to my dear friend, Troy, for helping to make this story come to life. Love you always! To my dear friend and the bestest nurse ever, Toni—thanks for taking such good care of me and for always keeping me covered with your many prayers.

 

Thanks to my spiritual father, Apostle Peterson, for refusing to let me end this book without redemption and for provoking me to seek the mind of God for the outcome. This is SUCH a better book because of you. I can't believe I was gonna kill Kevin! Thanks for all your love, prayers, and support through my darkest hour.

 

Special thanks to Pastor Darryl Foster and his precious wife, Dee, for taking the time to meet with me. I appreciate your being so willing to share your testimony with me and with the world. I pray that this book becomes another instrument in the hand of God to snatch struggling Christians out of the kingdom of darkness and into the Kingdom of light!

 

And finally, thanks to you, the reader, for supporting me in my pursuit of destiny. May this book be a blessing!

T
he worst day of my life was the day I caught my husband cheating on me.

You know those movies where the wife forgets something important for work and comes home in the middle of the day to get it, only to find her husband in bed with her best friend?

I should have been so lucky.

I had forgotten my good Littman stethoscope and hated the flimsy plastic ones we kept at the nurses' station. I didn't know how any nurse could get a decent blood pressure with those things. Since I was home, I figured I might as well eat. I opened the fridge to get some leftover lasagna before going back to the office.

That's when I heard it . . . the bumping.

Not a regular, foot-shuffling bumping like someone walking around. This bumping had a rhythm to it. A beat.

I stepped into the dining room and stared at the ceiling. The noise came from the master bedroom, directly overhead. Women's intuition rose from my belly to form a lump in my chest that ascended to my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.

I tried to reason away the knowing in my head. My husband, Kevin, usually spent the one Saturday a month I worked playing basketball or writing music. Yeah, that was it. He was pounding out the beat to a new song with his size 13 feet . . . in the bedroom, instead of his studio down the hall where he usually wrote music.

I tiptoed toward the steps, hardly able to breathe. Movie clips of guilty husbands and shocked wives flashed through my mind. Which one of my friends would it be? Or I bet it was Janine, the cutesy little soprano who sang all the leads in the church choir. During every rehearsal, she batted her eyelashes at Kevin and always needed him to stay after to help her get her solo right. I knew she was a skank ho.

I dragged my feet up the steps, fighting to lift them as I got closer to the top. I wasn't sure of the protocol for such a situation. Did I throw the door open and cry, “Aha, I caught you!”? Did I knock on the door and wait for them to get dressed and come out and admit their crime?

Nothing in my life could have ever prepared me for what I saw when I swung the door open and sang out, “Honey, I'm home.”

Imagine my surprise when I realized that the
she
I thought she would be was actually . . . a
he
.

I had never fainted before, but then again, I had never caught my husband of two years cheating with the guy who was supposed to be his closest “friend.” They were close all right. Closer than two men should ever be.

When I opened my eyes after a few minutes of unconsciousness, they were both scrambling to pull on some clothes—eyes wide, mouths hanging open. I took a deep breath, made sure I didn't have any life threatening injuries, jumped up and went to swinging.

“Wait, let me explain!” Kevin held up his arms to ward off my blows.

“Explain? What could you possibly explain? I've seen enough to know there's no explanation you could possibly come up with that could begin to
explain
what I just saw.”

I searched the room for something to swing or throw. Why hurt my hands? I threw books, hangers, a lamp—one of those big floor ones—anything I could get my hands on. I caught Kevin right above the eye with my alarm clock. I felt triumphant when blood trickled down his cheek.

“And you, Trey! You smile in my face, eat dinner at my house, talk about how happy you are for us and how happy I make Kevin, but all the while you were scheming on how to steal my man.”

“It wasn't like that, Monica, I promise. I—”

“Wasn't like that?” I threw one of my high heel shoes, aiming for his eyeball. “Obviously it was, Trey.”

I stomped out of the room and disappeared down the steps. They probably thought I had gotten tired or come to my senses. I wasn't anywhere near coming to my senses. I just remembered Kevin's golf clubs in the front closet.

When I came back, the look in Kevin's eyes said he regretted the day he ever became obsessed with being the next Tiger Woods. Trey screamed like a girl and ran out of the room when he saw the driving iron in my hand.

I made a wild swing at Kevin and hit the wall instead. Paint and drywall crumbled to the floor. While I was prying the club out of the wall, Kevin grabbed my arm and wrestled me to the floor.

“Monica, please, calm down and let's talk about this like rational adults.”

“Calm down? Rational adults?” I unleashed a spray of curse words—strung them together like a pro. Kevin's eyes widened. He had never heard me curse before. By the time he met me, I'd gotten delivered of the cussing demon I had picked up my freshman year of college.

I twisted a hand free and slapped his face. Hard. Twice.

He grabbed my hand again and tried to pin me down. He was forceful enough to stop my assault against him, but gentle enough not to hurt me.

“Monnie, please.” His eyes begged me. Those big, beautiful eyes I had fallen so deeply in love with. Seeing the tears forming in the corners of them took some of the fire out of me. I stopped struggling for a minute.

Kevin looked like he was trying to decide if I was faking him out or if he could trust me enough to loosen his grip. He stared, obviously not knowing what to say. What could he say?

I realized my dream life, my fantasy, had just fallen apart. I let out a wail. “Oh my Gaaaaaa-wwwwwddddd . . .”

“Monnie, I'm sorry. I—”

“You're sorry all right. You sorry son of a . . . You mother-lovin' . . .” Forget it. It was too hard. I unleashed another spray of foul language, knowing no matter how much I cursed or how many times I hit him, I'd never be able to make him hurt as much as he had just made me hurt.

I sure could try, though.

He'd let his guard down, giving me perfect space and time to kick him in the groin. When he fell, I jumped up and kicked him in the side with all the force my leg could muster. I didn't know such violence lived in me. I had to make myself calm down before I really hurt him. Even though he deserved it.

I paced around the bedroom. “Help me, Jesus. Help me not to kill him. Help me not to go down to the kitchen and get a knife and gut him. OhLawdJesus, help me. I want to take this golf club and beat him in the head 'til his brains drip out his ears. Jesus, keep me. I need You, Lord, otherwise I'm gonna . . .” My eyes darted around the room, looking for other things I could murder my husband with.

Kevin stood up, holding his side, sheer terror in his eyes. He had only seen me this mad once before—the last time my mother caught my dad with one of his many women.

“Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus . . .” I called His name like I was on the tarrying bench, trying to get filled with the Holy Ghost. When Kevin heard me praying in tongues, he scrambled toward the door.

After I heard the front door slam, I screamed from somewhere deeper than I knew my soul went. What had just happened? How long had it been happening?

I started pacing again. I walked up and down the steps, into the kitchen, into the den, into Kevin's music studio, back up the steps, into our bedroom, into the guest room, and into my exercise room I never used. Every time I tried to stop and sit, this wave of anger-bewilderment-shock-sadness-confusion-fear-insanity would come over me, and I'd have to walk again.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, cursing, and praying, I got tired. The initial adrenaline rush wore off and I remembered how out of shape I was. I looked at my watch. My half-hour lunch break was over and I was due back at work. I caught my breath and picked up the phone.

“Greater Washington Family Medicine, how may I help you?”

“Anthony, this is Monica. I need to talk to Dr. Stewart. Is she in with a patient?” I tried to keep my voice from doing that shaky thing it did when I cried.

“What's wrong wit' you, girl?”

“Not now, Anthony. Just get her for me. Please.” I hoped the “please” would soften my snippiness. I wasn't in the mood for Anthony to catch an attitude.

“Let me check. Hold on a sec.”

I waited for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain why I wasn't coming back to work. My brain was too fuzzy to come up with a good lie.

“This is Dr. Stewart.”

“Hey, it's Monica. An emergency came up. I won't be able to make it back this afternoon. I know Saturdays are bad, but I just can't make it back.”

“Oh dear, I hope everything is okay. Let me know if you need anything. See you Monday?”

“Oh yes, of course. Everything will be fine by then,” I lied.

I hung up the phone and went straight for the freezer to grab a pint of Tom & Larry's ice cream. Chocolate Walnut Brownie Crunch. My favorite. I plunked down in the middle of the family room floor and stared at the walls, covered with pictures chronicling the last six years of my relationship with Kevin.

Tears fell as I looked at the beautiful black and white engagement picture of us staring into each other's eyes. I should've known it was too good to be true. Kevin was every woman's dream. He was the one man I knew who wasn't afraid to share his feelings. He was my best friend. Closer than any of my girlfriends. I could tell him anything and he could tell me anything.

Or so I thought.

How could he have deceived me? This wasn't something he just tried out. He'd known Trey since childhood. Trey Hunter turned up at our door six months ago after not having seen Kevin in years. Kevin introduced him as his high school friend. I guess high school sweetheart was more like it.

I should've known something wasn't right when Trey first appeared. Trey was more effeminate than me, and I couldn't think of any of the straight men I knew who were close friends with gay men. But something should have alerted me long before that. I racked my brain searching for clues I might have ignored.

Kevin and I met not too long after I finished college, when I started visiting the church he attended. They had the best choir in the city and sang the latest contemporary music.

I joined Love and Faith Christian Center after attending a few Sundays. As soon as I finished my new members' classes, I joined the choir. I had sung in a choir as long as I could remember. Never sang a solo, but I was one of those solid altos any director could count on to keep everyone else on key. Kevin was the minister of music and I was the section leader, and we hung out after rehearsals to discuss songs or parts or whatever.

One night after practice, we went to IHOP and ended up talking until two in the morning. From then on we were inseparable. After that, we went out after every rehearsal and every church service, sometimes with a big group from the choir, sometimes just us.

The end table held a picture of us and our choir clique at our favorite table at IHOP. Judging from the fatness of my cheeks, my all-black outfit, and the salad instead of pancakes on the table in front of me, I must have been on an upswing of my lifelong weight yo-yo. Kevin had this enamored look on his face and I had this look of total shock like, “He's really with me?”

I scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton. Where did a whole pint go that quick? Good thing they had a two-for-one sale last week. Or maybe it wasn't such a good thing. Forget it. This was no time to worry about my weight. I needed all the comfort Tom & Larry could offer right now.

I turned to stare at our wedding picture hanging over the fireplace mantle. Kevin was dashing in his tux. I looked at his mocha chocolate skin; tall, muscular body; thick, curly hair, and heartbreaking smile.

Sistas was hatin' on me that day.

I had crash dieted to get into my size 12 wedding dress and looked good if I do say so myself. My classy Halle Berry haircut complemented my heart-shaped face. The dress was perfect for my hourglass figure. That was one thing I had going for me. Even at my largest, I was still well proportioned, and
always
had a waistline.

I knew some of my fellow choir sistas were jealous, and I felt good to be the one that caught the mysterious, elusive Kevin Day. He was charismatic as the minister of music—able to lead the whole church into the highest realms of praise and worship. But he seemed nervous when all the women fawned over him and vied for his attention.

That shoulda let me know something wasn't straight. But then again, what would I know? Kevin was my first and only real love. The only man I ever had a serious relationship with. The only one I'd ever been intimate with. And now . . .

Something in me snapped. I picked up a book and crashed it into the picture. I don't know what broke it, the book or the high-pitched scream I let out as I threw it.

I began picking up pictures of me and Kevin from all over the den. The one from our honeymoon in Negril, I threw against the wall. I sent the previous year's Christmas picture hurling into our engagement picture hanging over the stairs. One by one, I destroyed the evidence of what I thought was our wonderful, God-ordained life together.

As I smashed each picture, my heart shattered with the glass. My throat was raw from screaming. I couldn't stop, though. I had to destroy everything that told the lie I now knew my marriage was.

My mind was spinning. Instinctively, I picked up the phone to call my best friend, Trina. Right after the speed dial finished, I hung up. What would I tell her? “Hey, girl, guess what? I just caught my husband with another man.” Too embarrassing.

I started pacing again. “Oh my God. Did that really just happen?” No matter how much I walked, I couldn't escape it. “Okay, Monnie. Get yourself together.” I made myself stand still and take ten deep breaths.